


Melancholy

by Laure Alexander (ladyoneill)



Series: The Alpha Series [22]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Original Character(s), Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/Laure%20Alexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the 1920s, this is a vision of what Angel's existence might have been like.  Basically he craves punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on January 17, 2002 and written in about ninety minutes and in present tense. Very dark and depressing.

They have existed for millennia, as long as civilization. If a person knows where to look, they can be found.

And enjoyed.

Or suffered.

1924, Chicago, Illinois, he's found a haven.

Of sorts.

*****

Some sickening cross between a groan and a whimper spills from his torn lips. On his stomach, arms chained behind his back, legs spread wide, he winces and moans as the large male on top of him pounds into his dry hole.

Hot, humans are so hot. Like a spike of fire spearing into his guts.

But, he takes it, welcomes it, sobs for it. Tears leak from the corners of his tightly closed eyes, and harsh gasps burst from his lungs with each hard thrust.

The man doesn't care if he hurts him. He wants to hurt him. That's the point of this place. A big, burly Irish Catholic, sexually and morally repressed to the point of violence. Probably rather than take it out on his wife, he comes to places like this and finds willing victims for the pain.

And this victim...oh how wondrous.

He can take so much pain, so much brutality.

And he needs it so.

*****

In his inexpensive room, he heals during the day. Lying on a bare mattress on the floor, his pale body naked in the dark, he feels bruises fade, muscles reknit, tissues regrow. As the pain flows away, he sleeps and does not dream.

On awakening at the setting of the sun, he bathes with tepid, stale water, ignoring the pink shade it turns in the basin, as he washes away blood and semen.

As he pulls on well-worn trousers, there is movement in one cobweb filled corner of the room. Hunger churns in him, sudden and sharp, and he pounces.

Dinner is served.

*****

He works mechanically, unloading crates of vegetables into a grocery. For three hours each night, seven days a week, he unloads crates wherever his boss sends him. Sometimes they're crates of food or dry goods, other times, crates of illegal gin.

He doesn't care.

Twenty one hours a week brings him enough money to pay his rent and buy enough food to last him four days. He makes do on the other three.

The rest of the money goes to paying for the entry fees to the clubs he goes to almost every night after work.

He needs the pain almost more than he needs food.

Sometimes he wonders what will happen when his need for pain outweighs the need for food.

Maybe he'll just fade away.

*****

Tonight he's being whipped by a steady and sure hand. The dominant is experienced, never cutting him in the same place twice, until his back is a sea of bleeding stripes.

Wielding the whip at hard, quick pace, he doesn't seem alarmed that the blood isn't quite red and that the wounds heal too quickly.

Dangling from the ceiling, feet not touching the ground, he writhes, welcoming the burning agony, crying out at every new blow. The lash falls on his thighs, then on the tender place behind each knee, and he howls, bucking in the restraints.

More...

*****

Usually it's men, big, strong men who beat him until he's bloody and useless, or fuck him until he can't walk. But occasionally he chooses a woman, sometimes blonde, sometimes brunette. With the blondes, he relaxes, lets them do what they want.

He usually spends a lot of time with his head between their thighs as they crack switches over his back. Sometimes they even let him fuck them, suitably restrained of course. As he lies chained on his back and they ride him, he sees another blonde woman doing the same, ivory breasts spilling from a corset, ringlets of curls brushing his chest as she digs her claws into him and makes him bleed.

When he's feeling the need to be punished more than usual, he chooses a doe-eyed brunette, and, after whatever whipping and bondage games she wants to play, he hands her the wood and leather strap-on cock and goes to his hands and knees, silently pleading.

They seem to know he wants to be hurt, and they do it, fucking him brutally with all the girlish strength and womanly power in them, until he's bleeding and they've come over and over again.

And he whispers her name, begging for forgiveness.

*****

One night he's standing in the elegant bar, totally unconcerned that his scruffy clothes and workman's hands are out of place in such refinement, when he notices that a young and handsome blond man is eying him. The man--really still a boy--is slender and small, almost effeminate, except for the angular face and penetrating eyes.

So familiar.

And he knows what he wants this boy to do, what his look alike never could.

By silent, mutual agreement them ascend the stairs, find their assigned room. Worn and dusty clothes fall to the floor, and he crawls onto the bed, lowering his head to the pillows, keeping his muscular ass in the air.

Three words, he pleads with three words.

"Fuck me, please."

And the boy does so with little skill, but much enthusiasm, and beneath him, hands twisted in the bedding, the larger male weeps in joy.

It hurts--he always refuses lubrication because he wants it to hurt-- but the pleasure is unimaginable.

His boy, his childe is fucking him, every thrust hitting his prostate, balls slapping together, bodies moving as one. His own cock is hard and he reaches down, wraps his fingers around it, pumps to the rhythm of the fucking.

He knows this is wrong. There's no punishment here, and he needs to be punished, needs to feel the pain of the whip, the tearing agony of huge cocks fucking his ass, his mouth. He needs the chains and the gags and the endless blows of whip, crop, cane, paddle.

There's never any pleasure in it, only release. Not sexual, but spiritual. The pain lets his soul rest, if only for a few hours.

But, here, the pleasure...

He is meant to suffer, not feel ecstasy.

But, he can't help himself, and, as the boy comes, filling him with spastic thrusts, his own seed spews from him, covering his hand and stomach, dripping onto the bedding.

As they fall, still linked together, he feels lips on his back, kisses caressing where lashes should be falling, and he weeps.

He needs the pain more than the pleasure.

Up without a word, and dressed, and out of the room before the boy can protest, and then downstairs to find someone hard and cold to make him pay.

There are always those. It's the gentle ones that are rare.

*****

Within fifteen minutes he's bound and gagged, his cock hard yet wrapped tightly in leather to prevent him coming again. His eyes are bright and shining with tears of relief as the man talks of punishing him for allowing another to fuck him this night. As the man, still fully clothed in natty suit, picks up a small wooden paddle and drops to one knee in front of him, he awaits with a strange eagerness for the first blow to his cock.

The pain doesn't disappoint. It never does.

*****

Sometimes he wonders if this is what is life will be for all eternity. His soul aches with the need for punishment for all his crimes. His body screams for pain to make him pay. His mind begs for release from the misery, if only for a few hours.

So, at the end of a whip or a cock, he pays for all the deaths he caused, and he lets the pain sweep him away from himself, and he finds just a moment of peace.

But, he's never happy, because he knows that by tomorrow night he'll crave the release again.

As long as there are places to go to and people to punish him, he prays he'll find it.

End


End file.
